


We Cast The Perfect Spell, Dear Friend

by DemonDean10



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, First Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Fluff, George was anorexic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Paul has OCD, Poor John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Slow Burn, Smut, he suffer, in this house we love pets, ringo is a star, they all suffer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-13 17:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonDean10/pseuds/DemonDean10
Summary: Paul McCartney is a record shop owner that lives happy with his dog Martha, his friends George and Ringo (A couple), and struggles with his OCD. Martha is his service dog and indispensable to him. She's his best friend. She means everything to him.Then she goes missing.Luckily, a lad that recently moved to Penny Street after a mysterious and painful past called John Smith will be his savior.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon & His Aunts, John Lennon/Original Male Character(s), John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney & Martha
Comments: 100
Kudos: 142





	1. No Friends and Yet No Enemies

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys!  
In this story, Paul has OCD. If any of you have any suggestions on how I can make this more realistic, I'd love to hear it. I'm doing my research but still. C8 ta.

Paul McCartney was the happiest man in the world, he knew it. He had a record store called “Ob La Di Records” where he also taught guitar, piano, and a few array of other instruments. He lived in a moderately sized apartment right above the shop with his sheepdog, Martha. Martha was his everything, his greatest friend and companion. He was single since he’d broken it off with Jane Asher, who was allergic to dogs. She’d expected him to get rid of Martha, but that would never be an option. 

He didn’t know what he would do without her; he’d probably die. He’d gotten her at the recommendation of his therapist to help him with his anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder. Martha had helped him so much and continued to do so. She was the reason he was able to keep it together. His family loved her and treated her like a Queen whenever Paul visited. They were grateful that Paul finally had a companion, as his illness had made it difficult to find friends. Not a lot of people wanted to deal with someone with OCD. 

His only human friends where from therapy groups, like George Harrison. George was a young lad that had struggled with anorexia for years, but he was doing much better now and worked at the shop with Paul. He still had small relapses and boughs of self-hatred, but fought through it. George was an inspiration to Paul, always would be. 

Despite all his hardships, Paul still considered himself the happiest man in the world.

That is, until Martha got lost.

* * *

Paul whistled at Martha to come back in after doing her business and called out for her when she didn’t appear. “Martha? Girl, come on in!” 

But she didn’t come.

Paul wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the cold and stepped farther out. Martha went out into the alley behind the shop all the time, but she never wandered off. So why couldn’t he see her?

Straining his eyes, Paul stepped into the alleyway and looked around, heart beating madly. “ _ Martha! _ Girl, where are you?” He walked the length of the alley but saw no sign of her. “No, no, no…” He whispered quietly to himself, raising his hands to his hair to pull at it. How could this happen!? 

He ran back to his house and screamed, “Martha!” Maybe she got inside when he wasn’t looking. “ _ Martha _ !” 

Paul looked all over the house then went up to search his flat. No sign of her. Without grabbing a coat or even locking the door, he went back out into the alley and into the street. He screamed her name and hassled a few people about seeing her, but nothing. No one had seen her.

Martha was gone.

* * *

George Harrison shivered in the cold air, wrapped up in his boyfriends coat and holding dozens of missing posters in hands. He was walking through the streets of Liverpool alongside a distraught Paul, putting up posters for Martha. His friend had been a mess for the past two days, refusing to sleep or to bathe. He was obsessed with finding Martha, not that George could blame him. 

Ringo had offered to accompany them, but George had insisted that the man stay at home. He was still recovering from the mugging he’d gotten a few weeks ago outside a pub. Homophobia lived on and strong, it seemed.

So it was only Paul and George, walking around putting up posters and asking around. Paul had phoned the police, even, but they hadn’t paid much attention to him. Dogs got lost all the time, they had said. No big deal.

If only they could see Paul now, gaunt and pale, screaming into alleyways and parks. They had covered the whole of Liverpool in the past few days and had found nothing.

Soon, all two hundred and fifty posters were gone and the sun was low in the sky. George put a kind hand on Paul’s shoulder, “Time to head home, lad.”

Paul shook his head, just like he had the days before. “I can’t, Martha-“

“Will understand.” George said to him.

“But-”

“It’s getting late, Paul.” George interrupted, a bit harshly. “You’ve got to rest and I gotta get back to Ringo.”

Paul bowed his head, defeated. He did need rest; he wouldn’t be of any use to Martha if he was dead on his feet. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

Slowly, the two walked back towards Penny Street, neither of them feeling up to having a chat. Paul left George outside of his and Ringo’s building, and kept on walking alone to the shop. He was sleeping in the back room at the moment, the flat just felt too cold and alone without Martha. 

And as he turned the handle three times before actually opening the back room door, Paul decided that pretty much everything in his life was too cold and alone now. 

* * *

John Lennon was familiar with cold and alone.  _ He _ had made sure of it. But he was in a new place now, and he wasn’t supposed to feel cold and alone anymore. He’d just moved to Penny Street in Liverpool, a city he hadn’t been to since he’d moved to London with  _ Him _ . The flat was one of the nicer ones, what with his Aunty Mimi choosing it for him. It was on the top floor of a yellow building with a bookshop on the first floor. Aunty Mater had recommended that he tried to get a job there. John had said that he would think about it. And he would, some day. 

The large flat had cheerful green walls and clean white carpet, with a good kitchen and spacious bedroom. To fill it John had: A twin bed, a coffee table, some books, and a cat bed for a cat that didn’t even want to sleep on it. Alice was the name of his new cat, another gift from Mimi. She was beautiful, but perhaps she sensed something broken in John, because she didn’t spend much time with him. 

John was sitting on the windowsill for the moment, a forgotten book on his lap. He stared out into the street without really seeing anything, brand new glasses resting on his nose. A gift from Aunty Harrie. His stomach growled, and he was woken from his thoughtful slumber. He probably needed to eat something, but food had become such a rare thing to John that sometimes he didn’t really think about it. 

Still, Alice would start bitching soon if he didn’t go out and actually bought her some real cat food. So John stood up and grabbed his brand new white coat (A gift from Aunty Nanny) from the carpeted floor along with his brand new wallet filled with money. Money his aunts had kindly given him after everything. John felt like a charity case, but it had been so long since anyone had gifted him something to be his and only his, that he didn’t really dwell on it. 

He left his flat and made sure to lock the door. With cautious looks and shy steps, John went down the stairs ( _ You need the exercise _ ) and ventured out into the street. For a moment, he breathed in the fresh, yet dirty air of his hometown and looked up at the stars. He had forgotten their shine in all his time in the dark. 

As he walked the length of the street, looking for some sort of shop that sold food, John noticed the great amount of ‘Lost Dog’ posters that littered the walls and ground. A pretty sheepdog was shown, called Martha. Poor bastard of an owner, losing a pet must feel pretty horrible. (Unless the pet wanted to escape, wanted to feel the fresh air again)

He kept walking, gaze lowered out of habit, with a tense hand wrapped around the pepper spray in his coat pocket. 

He was passing a small alleyway when a shuffle behind a large litter bin made him jump. A small bang was heard and John’s breath sped up. Had  _ He  _ found him? “Who’s there?” He called out, stupidly.

But to his confusion, it was a bark and not a shout that answered him. Another bark followed.

John walked further into the alley, hand tight around the bottle of pepper spray. “Hello?”

A little whimper came from behind the bin. 

John put away the pepper spray and moved closer to the bin, seeing that there was a metal strip blocking an entrance to the back. He kicked at it until it fell away and gasped at what he found. 

It was a large dog, wet and covered in mud and blood. Oh shit. John could vaguely see a dirty tag around its neck and he leaned in to grasp it, shushing the dog gently when it growled at him. 

_ Martha _

_ Paul McCartney _

_ 180 Penny Street _

_ “Ob La Di Records” _

Huh, he’d briefly spied that store when he’d arrived to his own flat, deciding that he ought to check it out when he felt safer. But it seemed that the owner of the shop was also the owner of the missing dog.

Gently, John took Martha into his arms, feeling her shiver. She was big and heavy, but in no condition to walk, so John picked her up and headed out. He could go and give her to this Paul McCartney, but he also had spied a veterinarian at the end of the street and had a wallet full of money. 

He decided that his own food could wait and ventured out towards the veterinarian, hoping that he could pay them enough to treat and bathe her so late in the day.

* * *

The next day, Paul woke up feeling miserable. Everyday his hope grew weaker and his strength lessened. He hadn’t shaved in the last few days and his baths had been irregular.

He left the back room after turning the handle three times before opening the door and went up to his flat to at least change his jeans. He would be going out to look for Martha again this day and the next and the next. He would not rest until he found he-

_ Ring! _

The doorbell at the side door(He’d locked the shop door) rang repeatedly, followed a series of familiar barks.

Paul froze, could it be…? Instantly, he ran downstairs, shirt unbuttoned and barefoot, and headed for the door. He opened it and let it bang against the wall, gaping at what he found. “ _ Martha.” _ He breathed.

There she was! Big Martha was all clean and bright, shaggy hair sticking out perfectly and pick tongue happily out. It was after checking her over to see if she was hurt that Paul noticed the fact that she was being held up by a lad about his him right and built, his face hidden by her great big head.

“Um, hi.” The hidden man said, “I found your dog?”

Paul swallowed the lump in his throat and held out his arms. Martha jumped from the lad’s arms into the floor, Paul kneeling to hold her tightly. He buried his face in her fur for a few seconds before looking up, “Yes, thank yo-Oh.” Well, hello.

A young man that appeared to be in his mid twenties was looking down at him with a nervous look. He had a strong jaw with a small mouth and sharp aquiline nose. His eyes were accentuated by the thick Buddy Holly like glasses that rested on the arch of his nose, their colour a deep brown that resembled light chocolate. His hair a deep auburn that looked red as the sunlight struck it from behind, thin curls framing a pale face. An awkward smirk was on his face, warm eyes looking down on their reunion.

Paul licked his lips and stood up, a firm hand on Martha’s head. “Thank you so much, how did you find her?”

The man avoided his gaze as he spoke, “She was behind a bin a couple buildings away, next to the pastry shop.”

Paul could have slapped himself. How could he have missed her!? She must have been so scared…

“I just moved here so I was walking around and found her. She was dirty and injured so I took her to the vet nearby.” The man finished explaining.

Paul’s heart melted. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that...um?”

“John.” The man provided, finally looking into Paul’s eyes. “John...Smith.” That was safe, right? Uncle George’s name  _ had _ to be safe.

“I’m Paul.” The dog owner said. “How much was it, let me get my wallet-“

“No, don’t be ridiculous.” John raised a hand. “It was nothing.”

Martha pawed at Paul’s thing and he looked down at her with a loving expression. “Oh, I’m so happy I could kiss you!” Wait. “I mean…” 

But he’d only made the man laugh. A mad giggle escaped him, though he choked it down a...frightened look? Why would he be afraid to giggle?

John cleared his throat, “Really, son, it was no problem.”

Paul shook his head, “Still, let me buy you dinner. Please, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

John thought for a moment. Would it be safe? This McCartney was a complete stranger! But he seemed nice and harmless, even a little pathetic really. Messy beard and unbuttoned shirt, though John couldn’t deny that that chest wasn’t getting his attention- no. Best to not venture down that road. He just smiled and nodded, “Sure, why not?”

Paul grinned, “Tonight? Come here at seven? Is that good?”

John couldn’t deny a certain giddiness forming in his stomach. He hadn’t had a friend in years! “I’ll be here.”

“Gear. Thank you so much again, John.” Paul tried out the name, it sounded right in his tongue. 

John waved him away, “I’ll let you two catch up. See you tonight.” And with that, he left the store and started walking down the street. Okay, now he really needed to find a place that sold cat food. Alice must have been starving. And so was he. 

But as he walked, he passed by a fancy looking shop with clothing on the showcase window. Perhaps he ought to get something for the night, after all, it wasn’t like he owned a lot of clothes. Besides, John loved buying clothes.  _ He _ had loved that about John at first, before deciding that  _ he _ ’d rather have his pet out of them.

Now was not the time to think about that man, John told himself. He was safe. He had to be. He hoped he was. So John walked into the store and prepared to spend even more money. 

He was safe. He had to be. 


	2. I'm In Love With A Friend Of Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Im back !! Enjoy.

After calling George and informing him of what had happened, Paul had played with Martha for hours and hours, both of them happy to be reunited. Once they had both been exhausted from running and jumping around, Paul had taken a long bubble bath, shaved, and was now looking through his closet for something to wear. He’d already chosen Martha’s collar and leash for the night, her royal blue one. 

Tonight wasn’t a date, he told himself. They’d just met and even if the nice man had been really handsome, Paul didn’t know if he would be interested in a relationship. Paul wasn’t even sure of that! Maybe they didn’t have anything in common! Maybe he liked country music!- No, it wasn’t a date. 

But Paul wasn’t about to dress like a slob. So he picked out a black t-shirt and shrugged on a white jumper on top. He looked good in white, he thought. Jane had always said so. Besides, now he matched with Martha! 

….but  _ was _ it a date? Paul groaned and slapped his forehead repeatedly until Martha barked at him to stop. Paul fell onto his bed and buried his face in the pillow. Best to call George and ask him what he thought on the matter. Yeah, George would make him feel better.

* * *

_ “What do you even know about the guy? What if he’s a prick?”  _

Oh fuck you, George.

“I told you, he just moved in.” Paul told him, exasperated.

George scoffed,  _ “And? That’s all that’s needed to get a date?” _

The older lad pouted. “He found Martha! And he took her to the vet- George, he’s perfect.”

Over the phone, George sighed.

Paul held his pillow close, “What if he doesn’t like me?” What he got a compulsion during dinner and he ignored John and made a fool of himself and John decided to hate him and-

_ “Just be yourself, Paul.”  _ George told him.

Paul grumbled, “That’s shit advice.” His self  _ sucked _ .

_ “I know… _ ” Came his friend’s response. Then, in a more determined tone, he said,  _ “Look, you’re hot as fuck, alright? You have a dog and gear taste in music. Your hair is super soft and you have legs for days. If he doesn’t like that, then screw him.” _ George finished.

Paul was nodding along frantically. “Okay, okay. You’re right.” He chuckled, “I’m a fucking catch.”

“ _ You’re a fucking catch _ .” George confirmed.  _ “Now go get him!” _

Paul hung up the phone with a word of thanks, stood up and led Martha downstairs.

John was waiting down at the shop, looking at records, and when Paul saw him he froze. Martha ran into the shop and started to circle John, but Paul hid. 

John was  _ very well _ dressed. He wore a form fitting black suit with a long blazer and ruffled black shirt. His long wavy hair was in a bun resting against his neck, with wild curls framing his face.

_ Marry me _ .

No nonoononononon-  _ nope _ . So this  _ was _ a date! And now Paul was underdressed. Quietly, he ran back up the stairs and kicked off his sneakers the moment he crossed his threshold. He went to his closet and grabbed a black coat, a red scarf, and black boots. Yes, that was better. It was no suit, but it was nice enough.

He walked back down, smoothing his hair, and tried to look smooth. When he reached the shop, John was on his knees scratching Martha’s belly. Paul wanted to literally marry him. He’d wear white and all.

“Hello there.” When in doubt, quote Obi Wan Kenobi.

John looked up with a startled look and stood up abruptly, “Oh hey. I was just-“

“It’s alright.” Paul reassured, a bit taken aback by the strong reaction. “Martha loved it, I’m sure.”

John smiled softly and looked him over. “You look nice.”

“Better than this morning for sure.” Paul made a face and rejoiced in the laughter he got in return. He grabbed Martha’s leash off the ground and looked up at John, waiting for his reaction.

The other man smiled down at the dog, “Oh, she’s coming with?”

“Yes, she, uh.” Paul forced a smile, “She’s my service dog. I, I have a severe case of OCD.” 

John was silent for a moment and Paul panicked. He waited for the jokes and the rejection. People had rejected him before, said they didn’t want a control freak for a boyfriend. Or some accepted him at first, but then made fun of him for the rest of the relationship, or even hurt him. One of his boyfriends had taken to slapping Paul every time a compulsion distracted him. It had been George that had finally kicked him out. Jane has been kinder about it, but she was a person that demanded attention and eventually she’d gotten tired of ‘fighting’ for it.

But John only nodded with an understanding look. “Okay then. You know where you wanna go? I, I don’t really know any place around here.” He shrugged with a self-deprecating look.

Paul let out a sigh of relief and then nodded, “I know just the place.”

* * *

The Uekinachi was a faux fancy place. It was beautifully decorated and the food was fucking delicious, but the prices were low and the crowd simple. Still, their clothing would fit right in. The owner, Kioshi, was familiar with Paul and Martha and so Paul didn’t need to get out the certificate of service animal. He led John to a booth next to the fish tank and after they had sat down, asked, “Do you like Japanese food?” Martha had laid herself down underneath the table, perfectly calm.

John shrugged a shoulder, “Never tried it.”  _ He _ hadn’t liked it.

Paul raised his eyebrows, “What? That’s mad!”

Wasn’t it, just?

Paul ordered for the both of them some tempura and chicken, then looked at his companion. “So...where did you move from?” 

John sipped his water, “London. I, I’m from here but I lived there for a bit.” He’d loved to see the city but  _ he’d  _ kept him from it.

“College?” Man was a bit old for it but who knew?

John shook his head, “No, just wanted a change I suppose. It didn’t stick…” He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “Anyways, how about you? Did you go to Uni?”

Paul scoffed gently, “Oh, yeah. Got my degree and everything. But then I decided to open up the shop instead.” He rubbed his elbow, “Me da wasn’t very pleased, you know, but…” He shrugged. “He wanted me to become a teacher.” He explained. “And I just didn’t want to.”

John had a strange look on his face. “I know what you mean.”

Paul raised an eyebrow as he waiter arrived with their food. “Ta, sir. How about you, then? Got any pets of your own?”

John also thanked the waiter, keeping his eyes averted. “A cat. Alice like Alice in Wonderland.” He shrugged a bit shamefully and whispered, “It’s my favourite book.”  _ He _ hadn’t liked it, in fact,  _ he’d  _ destroyed John’s favourite copy.

But Paul didn’t seem to find it ridiculous. He only nodded with interest. “Really? I’ve never read it.”

John’s eyes widened, “What?”

Paul shrugged guiltily, “Only seen the film.”

John shook his head, “You have to read it.” He said. “I’ll lend you one of my copies.” Most of which were new and gifts from his aunts.

The other man smiled at him, “Thank you.”

John took a bite of his tempura, “Hmm, it’s delicious.”

“I  _ know _ .” Paul’s smile fell just slightly, “Me mum used to take me and my brother for sushi every month. She loved it.”

John didn’t miss the last tense. “Oh, is she…?”

“Dead, yeah.” Paul shrugged and looked into John’s eyes. “Died when I was a teenager.”

“I’m..sorry for you loss.” He knew it they were useless words, but fitting.

Paul only shrugged again, “It was a long time ago.”

There was a silence, then:

“My mum died when I was a teenager, too.” John dared to say.  _ He _ hadn’t liked to hear about Julia Lennon, unless it was to insult her and then compare her son to her.

Paul looked up from his food, “Oh?”

John nodded slightly, still wary. “Yes. She didn’t raise me or anything, but...she was me mum.”

“Who raised you?” His face got sheepish, “I mean, if you’re okay with saying…” What a fucking rude question, Paul, way to go.

But John didn’t mind. He wouldn’t share  _ too _ much, but there was no need to lie. “Me aunties, mostly Auntie Mimi. She’s, Uh, happy I’m back.”

“I bet.” Paul grinned. “What about your dad?”

John shook his head, “Don’t know him. He left a couple years after I was born. But I don’t care, Uncle George was enough.”

Paul, already regretting his sensitive question, offered a soft smile. “Good.” He said.

The talk turned to more pleasant matters then, and Paul was glad to find that John was very much a fan of rock n roll, but shocked to find that the man didn’t own any records. 

They fawned over Elvis and Chuck Berry, giggling amongst each other like little children.

It was fun. John was finally relaxed and Paul hadn’t been taken away by a compulsion. Martha remained calm between their feet, alert as always.

It was in the middle of a small pause as they ate their dessert that Paul noticed a tattoo on John’s inner wrist, as his sleeve had ridden up. 

“What’s this?” He asked harmlessly, “‘Available’?”

John flinched and hurried to cover his wrist. He forced out a laugh, “It’s nothing. Just a silly thing I got when I was a kid.” He shook his head, “It’s stupid.”

Paul knew when not to push, so he pushed down his curiosity and carried on talking. “If you say so. Me da never let me get a tattoo.” 

John laughed a bit more calmly, “Yeah, Mimi nearly had a heart attack when she first saw it.” That was true enough. Though it wasn’t because of the tattoo itself, but rather its purpose.

* * *

The three of them arrived to the front of John’s building, Paul having kindly offered to walk the man home. 

They stood there for a second with Martha’s gaze moving from one face to the other.

“Well.” Said Paul.

“Well.” Answered John.

They laughed.

John spoke up, “Thank you for dinner, it was lovely.”

“Least I could do.” Paul said and smiled, “Truly, thank you for bringing Martha back.”

John looked down sheepishly, then looked up with charmed eyes.

Paul steeled himself, took a small step forward, and began to lean forwards.

But John shifted his face away. “Paul.” He whispered softly.

The other man stepped away, “I’m sorry-“

“No, I am-“

“Don’t be!” Paul assured.

John but his lip, “It’s not you, I like you. I’m just not...ready for a relationship right now.”

“Of course.” Paul answered calmly and smiled gently. “I get it.”

“Thank you.” John said.

Paul looked down at Martha and cleared his throat. “Come by the shop tomorrow, yeah? We’ll see about getting you some records.”

John nodded, “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Paul answered.

The other man stepped away, “I, eh, I’m gonna go up now.”

Paul waved him away and sighed once he was out of view. He looked down at his dog and sighed again, “Shit, Martha. What am I gonna do?” Cause he was definitely interested in John.

Meanwhile, the object of his affections was locking his flat door and leaning against in. Alice meowed at him from the windowsill and he went to her. “Oh Alice, what to do?” 

He couldn’t get involved with Paul, he’d just put him in danger in case... _ he  _ ever found out where John was. Best to remain simple neighbours, and nothing more. Or...friends? Could he risk it? 

Maybe.

Maybe he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pleeeeeaseee comment!! C8 
> 
> Comment  
Comment  
please


	3. An Unexpected Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooooo, this fic is back! yay!  
i hope you enjoy it C8  
please leave a comment if you do

_ There were hands grabbing at him, ripping his clothes, if they could be called that, and scratching his skin. Jarring laughter surrounded him, the scent of cigarettes and booze in the air.  _

_ They were calling his name- taunting him with it. Ruining it. _

_ Someone pulled him down, another grabbed his hair and dragged him to the back. No no no, he didn’t want- he couldn’t- not again-! _

John woke up with a cracked yell, chest rising up and down at a mad pace with his sleep shirt soaked with sweat. Another nightmare, another sleepless night. He sighed and buried his face in his hands, waiting for the tears to stop falling. 

Once he’d stopped crying, John stood up and shrugged on his warm robe. Nothing to do but take a shower and read for the rest of the night. He didn’t want to go back to sleep and risk encountering his past again. 

* * *

The next morning he headed out for Paul’s shop. It had become part of his day to stop by every morning, even if he didn’t buy anything. He’d made friends with George, who’s eyes looked ages older than the rest of him, and was adored by Martha. Overall, things were actually going well for John. He liked his routine and his friends- he had friends! Life awake was good. 

Until this morning. 

He opened the door to the shop with a greeting on his lips, but fell mute at the site in front of him.

George looked towards him with a friendly smile, “‘ello, John!” But he wasn’t alone.

John felt all air leave his lungs. He choked and almost fell as his knees trembled.

A short man stood in front of the counter, white hair at the sides of his hair, with a cigarette dangling from a ringed hand. He turned to face the entrance with a grin that was quickly snuffed out when he spotted the person entering. He gasped and let the cigarette fall. “Wi- Winnie?”

John couldn’t help it, he ran out of the shop.

George frowned in concern and turned to his boyfriend. “What was that?”

Ringo turned to him, eyes wide and upset. “That was John,  _ John Lennon _ .”

The younger man blinked. “What, your ex? No, can’t be. He’s John Smith.” He’d mentioned John to Ringo, of course. Talking about Paul’s lovelife was a hobby of theirs. He’d told him how John had just moved in and liked Rock n Roll like them. 

Ringo leaned against the glass counter and took a deep breath. “George, I’m telling you. That was Lennon.”

The back door opened and Paul came out, wearing his cleaning jumper and a frown to go with it. “I heard the door slam.” He complained, “Who was that?”

“Richie says that your John is John Lennon.” George explained with eyebrows raised. 

Ignoring the pronoun for the moment, Paul scoffed. “What? No. He’s John Smith.”

“Smith’s his uncle’s name.” Ringo said, exasperated at the two. “You’re telling me he’s the one who found Martha?”

Paul crossed his arms. “Yeah, he just moved back from London.” He told the drummer. 

“I need to see him.” Ringo went to Paul’s side, “What’s his address?”

Paul bit his lip, not trusting that it would be a good idea if the man had ran out from just seeing his ex. “He lives in the yellow building.”

Apparently that was enough for Ringo. “I’m going.” He said.

George stopped him, jealous despite himself. “You can’t! You’ve spooked him, anyways. Besides, he dumped ya. Why do you-”

His boyfriend interrupted him. “That’s the thing. He didn’t.”

Paul frowned harder, “Didn’t what?”

“Dump me. He disappeared.”

George stepped away from him. “You lied to me?” He sounded hurt. 

Richie sent an apologetic look to him. “He went missing. I, I thought he was dead or something.” His aunts had refused to see him and nobody else in Liverpool had seen him. It had been so many years ago now, he only thought about the man in the dark of night. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” George whispered, arms crossed. 

His boyfriend sighed and looked at the ground. “It was easier to pretend.”

Silence reigned. 

Then Paul finally spoke, rightfully concerned about the situation. “How long ago was this?” This must have been when John was in London. 

“Five years.” Ringo answered him. He clapped his hands together and widened his eyes at Paul. “Please, I need to know why he left.”

The door of the backroom slammed and the two of them turned to see that George was gone. 

The younger man turned back to the drummer with a sigh. “ _ I’ll _ go talk to him, okay? I don’t think he wants to see you.” He felt a spark of guilt at the wounded look in his friend’s eyes, but it was overpowered by the anger he felt on George's behalf. Disappearance or not, George was with Ringo now; Paul wouldn’t want Ringo to try and get with John again. Because of George. Obviously. Only George.

Richard finally nodded and Paul left him with a pat on the back.

* * *

John was curled up in bed, Alice on top of his head. Seeing Rich had brought back too many painful memories, opening a void of guilt and shame in his soul. He looked good, did Rich, and happy. Good for him, he’d always deserved better than John. 

The two of them had met as teeangers and had entered a relationship the day John turned eighteen. It had been a good four years, all things considered, but John had been young and selfish. He’d wanted more than what he thought Richard could give him. He wanted to get married, but the older man thought they were too young. He wanted shiny things and expensive clothes, but jobs were hard to find for Richard. What turned out to be their last year together was a tense time, with heavy silences after arguments and growing distances. 

Then one night, it all started to change. They went out to a club in an effort to get the blood flowing and while John had gone to get their drinks, he’d been approached by a tall and handsome stranger.  _ He _ flirted with John and charmed him despite it all. But John had walked away and thought that was that. 

Then  _ he _ showed up at the bookstore John co-owned with his buddy Pete Shutton. John had been understandably freaked out, especially when he was called by his name despite never mentioning it to the man. But he let the man help him carry books around, perhaps because Rich never offered to do so.  _ He _ showed up almost every day afterwards, and then started to bring gifts along.  _ He _ bathed John in jewelry and designer accessories, high end wines and first edition books that John had carefully hidden from Richard. 

He’d felt special, wanted in a way he hadn’t in four years. Little by little, comment by comment,  _ he _ started to make John doubt the worth of his relationship with Rich. The man made John believe that he deserved everything the drummer would never be able to give him and offered himself as a more reliable source of income and happiness. 

And John, naive and greedy, had believed him. He’d ran off like a thief in the middle of the night, gotten in a black car with the promise of a rich future and leaving an oblivious Richard behind.

And then it had all gone wrong.

John’s doorbell rang and he jumped, disturbing Alice. He sat still on the bed, trembling at the mere thought of who was outside. How could he face Ringo? How could he tell him that he’d thought he deserved something more than his love? And Paul? He’d hate John now. He wouldn’t want to be friends with some loose gold digger. 

The doorbell rang again. 

“John? It’s Paul. Are you okay?” 

John gasped. Why was he here? Was he here to hurt John? 

“I’m not going to make you talk to me, but I want you to know that you can trust me, okay? I won’t judge.” 

Paul stared at the closed door for a moment. He didn’t want to scare John, but he was concerned. Ringo had sparked his curiosity about the man and Paul wanted to see if he could help. But apparently John wasn’t ready for that. He’d just turned away with a sigh when the door opened. 

John’s hair peeked out. “Promise?” He asked in a whisper. 

Paul nodded with a smile. 

And John let him inside and told him the truth. He skipped over what happened in those years he was with  _ him _ , but let him know about the man why John had left without saying. 

He laughed self-deprecatingly, “He swept me off my feet. I didn’t think of anything else.” Didn’t think of Rich, he thought.

“But five years?” Paul asked, not unkindly. 

John looked down. They were sitting on his sofa, not very far apart. What could he say? ‘ _ He _ threatened to send dogs after me if I escaped’? No. Instead he just said, “ _ He _ wasn’t the man  _ he _ made me think  _ he _ was.” 

Paul seemed to understand what he was saying. He shook his head in sympathy, “I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” John raised a hand. “I got what I deserved for hurting Richard.”

Paul took his hands and squeezed gently. “Don’t say that!” He said firmly. “I, I don’t know what he did, but I know you didn’t deserve it.”

John sniffed and avoided his gaze. “Thank you.” He whispered wetly, “For not judging.” He’d never imagined that Paul wouldn’t be angry at him. He’d underestimated him. 

The younger man grinned. “Of course. And, just so you know, I don’t think Ringo will either.” 

But John took his hands away and hugged himself. “He must hate me. I would.”

“No, no. He’s worried for you.” Paul told him. George might say a little too much. 

“...I don’t think I’m ready to see him again.” He couldn’t face that guilt yet. 

“That’s okay.” Paul reassured him. “That’s okay.”

* * *

And so John didn’t visit the record shop for the next few days, still trying to muster up the courage to speak with Ringo and explain himself. He stayed at home and tried to draw or paint. He was out of practice, but he’d gone out a few days before this whole thing to buy all necessary supplies and he figured it wouldn’t be good to let them waste away.

Without really thinking about it, John found himself painting Martha. Her shaggy white day with shades of black and grey, her large tongue and dark eyes. 

After he’d been found, his aunts had advised him to get a service dog to help with his trauma. John had refused and he’d gotten Alice instead. He wasn’t a dog person, but he loved Martha. She and her owner were very alike, both all fluffy and soft. Paul was a good man and John had been lucky to meet him. 

So three days later, painting finished, John set out to face his demons. He’d give the painting to Paul and if by some chance Rich was there, John wouldn’t run away. 

He walked slowly, preparing himself for the moment. It was a cloudy day with few people outside. Good. Luckily, the shop was still open and after taking in a breath, John pushed the door open.

Paul was just finishing up a purchase and he smiled when he saw John, looking relieved to see him out of his flat. He waved the customer goodbye and stepped out from behind the counter. “Johnny, how good to see you.” He’d taken to calling John ‘Johnny’ like his mum had once upon a time ago.

The man raised his sheet covered canvas. “I brought you a gift.” He said. “For being so nice.” He chuckled weakly and looked down.

“Oh you shouldn’t have.” Laughed Paul but gladly went over. He didn’t often receive gifts and secretly adored them.

John presented it to him and removed the sheet.

Paul’s eyes widened and he gasped. He didn’t speak.

The painter looked down at the painting to see what was wrong with it. Was it too much? Maybe he should have done multiple drafts instead of just showing up with the first try-

“I love it.” Paul whispered. He took in hand and put it down against a shelf. 

John smiled, “Really-oof!”

Paul launched himself at John, holding him tightly. 

John expected to feel trapped or frightened like he had when Mimi had first hugged him, but interestingly enough, he didn’t. Paul’s hold felt warm and safe, steady and secure. Tentatively, he leaned into it and returned the hug.

After a few more moments, Paul let him go and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”

John nodded, “You should have.” He agreed, “But I liked it.”

Paul smiled at him and picked up the painting again. He started to walk further into the shop, “I’ll put it up upstairs, want to come with?”

John scratched his face anxiously, but nodded. After all, he’d trusted Paul to enter his flat so why shouldn’t he trust the man on his own?

They went up a loud wooden staircase and cane up to a green door with some dog scratches on the bottom and a quaint sign that read, ‘Home Sweet Home.’

Paul laughed in embarrassment, “Um, an old girlfriend gave it to me and I just left it there.” Jane had gone but she’d left many little imprints on Paul’s life. 

“I think it’s cute.” John dared to tease.

“Oh, shut up, you.” Paul teased back and opened the door. Martha was napping on the carpet in front of the sofa and she whined at them. 

Paul held up the painting proudly, “Look at this, my dear! Johnny did good, didn’t he?”

The painter smiled, flattered. He looked around the flat and found it lovely. Cramped for sure, much smaller than his, but lovely. There were pictures and trinkets everywhere, with a thick blanket on the couch and an avocado plant on the windowsill. 

“I’ll hang it up in the music room.” Paul said aloud for John’s benefit and walked into what was supposed to be a second bedroom, but had been repurposed to his needs. 

John followed him inside, gaping at the grand white piano that resided in the middle of the room. Guitars hung from the walls with some brass instruments next to them. “Woah.”

Paul moved some papers and sheet music from a table and laughed. “That piano was a pain to get in here, let me tell you.” 

“It’s beautiful.” John told him.

Standing on the table to hang up the painting, Paul nodded at the instrument. “Do you play?” He saw the man shake his head but spotted a spark of recognition in his eyes. “Come on, show me what you’ve got.”

John shook his head again. “It’s been years. I wasn’t any good, anyway.”

“There.” Said Paul as he finished arranging the painting and jumped up off the table. “Please.” He begged John, “Just a couple notes?”

John sighed, but accepted his fate. He went and sat on the piano bench, then frowned in thought. “I took two years of lessons and this is all I remember.” And he started to play one handed.

Paul chuckled as the melody of ‘Heart and Soul’ rang out. “Wow.” He teased.

John shrugged with a smile and repeated the melody. 

Paul went over to his side and nodded to the open space on the seat.

John scooted over and kept playing the simple melody.

“Well, alright then.” Said Paul and raised both hands to play the accompaniment. 

They grinned at each other and kept playing. It was a short song, but they replayed it over and over. They were having fun.

* * *

It was two days later that John finally saw Rich again. He went into the shop and George greeted him with a small smile.

John went to him and whispered, “Hi.”

George put down his magazine. “Hi.” He repeated.

“Um…” John looked down. “Sorry if I caused something between you and Rich, that is, Ringo- I didn’t know your Richard was the one I knew and I-“

George raised a hand and shook his head. “Don’t worry, me and Richie are okay.” After George had bawled for an hour and thrown fruits at him when they got home, Ringo had apologized and hugged him until George let go of his anger. “It’s not your fault. He  _ was  _ worried, though. About you. He thought you were dead.”

If only, thought John. He licked his lips and coughed awkwardly. “I...I was selfish back then. You mustn’t be upset with him, I was entirely at fault.”

George only offered a kind smile, which John did his best to return. He thought for something else to say when George beat him to jt.

“Um, John?” The boy murmured.

John raised his eyebrows to show he was listening. 

“Did you and Ringo, were you...engaged?” He whispered the last word as if it were precious.

John blinked and shook his head, sighing. “He didn’t want to be.” He admitted, “Much to my disappointment.”

George let out a relieved sigh at the words. “So it’s not me, then.”

John crinkled his eyes in amusement, “No, it’s not you.”

George’s eyes lit up then, “Would you like to come to dinner tonight?” He asked brightly. “Paul’s coming.”

The older man winced slightly. “I don’t know.”

“Richie’s not mad at ya, promise.” The lad begged. “There’ll be cake, me mum’s recipe.”

John let out a breath. “Well, how can I say no to that?”

George grinned at him and John found himself grinning back. It was nice to have friends.

* * *

So later that day, John found himself outside a white building with a pastry shop out front and a rainbow flag hanging from the balcony on the second floor. 

Paul led him up the stairs with confidence, chattering about with Martha walking by their side. 

Paul himself was shaken and trying to hide it. Earlier that day he’d started working on fixing some CDs with broken cases and had spent hours on it. A thought had taken over him: If he didn’t change the cases, people wouldn’t come to the shop anymore because he’d been lazy and he’d go bankrupt and then Martha would die because he wouldn’t be able to afford food for her and George would get hit by a truck because he’d have to go back to working near the bus stop. Eventually, Martha had snapped him out of it but the thought was still up there in his brain, making him ill. 

John took notice of his jittery behaviour but said nothing, he thought Paul was maybe just excited. 

Paul had a key to open the door and Martha ran in as soon as it opened a crack.

John heard Richard’s warm laugh and he froze.

Paul turned to him. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. They’ll understand.”

John groaned and hugged himself. “I want to, I  _ do _ . I’m just…”

“Afraid.” Paul filled in sympathetically.

Martha came back out and barked at the pair. John looked down at her and took in a breath.

“I can do it.” He whispered to himself. “I’m ready.” He wasn’t, but he wanted to be.

Paul smiled and opened the door for him.

The flat was well decorated, which John knew couldn’t be by Ringo. There were plants and candles everywhere with fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. It was pretty and homely, not like the small house he’d shared with Richard. They hardly spent any time at home so it lacked those little comforts that made people eager to stay in. 

George walked up to them, wearing an apron with a smiling dog on it. “Hello, lads! Food will be ready in a bit, it’s gotta stay in the oven for a few.”

“We made pizza.” Came a deep voice from behind him and Richard appeared, blinking as he took in John. 

The younger man looked down in shame. “H-Hi, Richard.” He whispered meekly. 

The short man walked up to him slowly, like a man approaching a scared animal. “Hello, Winnie.”

John took a deep breath and shuddered. “Please don’t call me that.”  _ He _ ’d liked to call him that. 

Ringo swallowed, wounded despite himself.

George cleared his throat, “Er, would you lads like to sit down while I fetch us something to drink?”

Ringo spoke before John or Paul could. “I think we should talk,  _ John _ . Please.” He added, not seemingly angry.

John scratched his face and nodded, “Y-Yes...I suppose we should.” He responded, still looking at the ground.

George nodded along and Paul looked between the pair, concerned for the both of them.

“Um.” Was all Ringo said as he expanded his arm to point in the direction of a hallway, gesturing for John to follow him. 

John did, slowly and hesitantly, after shooting a nervous look at Paul.

The shop owner looked after them, now biting his finger in trepidation.

“It’ll be alright.” Said George, “Come on, sit down and I’ll fetch you some scotch and coke.”

Paul sighed but turned away. He trusted Ringo to be kind, but he couldn’t help but worry.

Ringo held open the door to their small study/music room, feeling sad as John avoided his gaze. 

The man nodded in thanks and walked past him, taking in the great collection of guitars, the sparkling drum set, and the frankly alarming number of ukuleles. “This is nice.” He said lamely. 

Ringo shut the door after him with a sigh. “Thanks. Paul helped us decorate it.”

John hummed with his arms crossed, scratching at his ear as best as he could. “I, thank you. For letting me come here.”

“Of course, Wi-John.” Ringo answered him and walked closer. “Can you tell me about, y’know, what happened?” He asked, not as gently as he would have liked. 

John reached into his pocket, where he kept a little stress ball that Paul had gifted him. He squeezed it as he spoke, “I can try. You deserve to know.”

Ringo agreed. “When I woke up that day...I panicked. I called everyone, searched everywhere, but you were gone. Where did you go?”

John closed his eyes tightly, still facing away from the older man. “I left with”- He took in a shuddering breath- “another man.”

Silence reigned over the room for a moment.

Then came a sigh. “I thought it would be something like that. Well, first I thought you were dead, but since I saw you the other day I figured you’d...found someone better.”

At this, John turned around fast enough to make him stubble and he went to the drummer’s side, eyes wide. “ _ No _ .” He let out. “No, Richard. You- You’re so good and kind and sweet, and  _ he _ is cruel and rotten inside. I was an idiot, a fucking idiot. I let  _ him _ seduce me into thinking that you weren’t enough, but that was bullshit.” He dared to take the now astounded man’s hand and declared, “I betrayed you, Richie, over a  _ lie _ . And I am so, so sorry.” His voice broke and a tear escaped him, “So sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, I was selfish and naive and  _ so fucking stupid _ …” He sobbed, letting go of Ringo’s hand to press his palms against his forehead.

Ringo stared, shocked beyond words. In all their years together, he’d never seen John cry. And now here he was, looking older and thinner, with incredibly long hair and wearing _his_ _glasses_, weeping like a broken little creature. “Oh, John…” He whispered, putting his hands on the man’s shoulders. “You’re alright now. You’re back.”

John let the hands steady him, hating himself for it. Here he was, once again taking advantage of this kind man. 

Ringo rubbed his shoulders, “I’m not angry with you. I’m so happy you’re alive, John. It was years ago and I forgive you.” 

The younger man couldn’t believe it. He blinked his tears away and removed his hands from his face. “Wh-what?” He tilted his head, “You mean it?”

Richard smiled softly. “Yes, John. I mean it.”

John frowned wetly. “But I was horrible to you.” He objected, rattled by such kindness. 

“But you’re back and you’re okay. That’s all I wanted, all these years. I just wanted you to be okay.”

So John  _ had _ been missed...Mimi and his aunts had reassured him of it over and over, and he’d believed them but never for one second had he dared to hope that his sweet Richie had missed him too. It was a favourite exercise of  _ his _ to remind John of his insignificance, of how tainted he now was, of how Richie would be disgusted by him. And maybe he would, if he ever found out what John had done all those years or rather, what had been done to him. 

There was a knock on the door and George pushed his head in. “Hi, everything okay?”

Ringo nodded and was glad to hear John verbally agree. 

George grinned at them. “Good. The food is ready.”

Ringo gestured at the other man to walk ahead of him and John nodded in thanks, this time while looking into his eyes. They went back into the living room, where Martha was pacing tensely in front of a perturbed looking Paul, who was sitting on the sofa and was staring at a stack of mail on the table beyond the shaggy dog. 

Ringo and George shared a concerned look with each other, but it was John who went and sat by his side. Martha stopped pacing and looked at him, following to Paul’s side and sitting right in front of his owner- still in front of the table and the mail. 

John took in Paul’s hands, which were tensely positioned on his lap, wide open as if about to launch themselves at something, most likely the stack of mail. 

“Hey, Paul.” He said slowly, “What’s wrong?”

The man swallowed, looking ashamed. “I...those papers, they’re-” He cleared his throat. “They’re not  _ aligned. _ It’s, they’re  _ wrong _ and I want- I  _ need _ to fix them but Martha won’t  _ let me _ .”

John hummed and nodded, careful not to make Paul think he was amused or annoyed by him. “I see. Well, there’s an easy solution.”

Paul shook his head reflectively. “No, there isn’t. They’re  _ wrong _ and if I don’t fix them, then they, th-they’ll be wrong.” He stammered, frustrated at the fact that he knew it wasn’t logical, yet it made perfect sense to him. 

John raised a hand. “George,” He called, “Could you take the papers away, please?”

The young man did as told, scooping them all up and taking them out of the room immediately. 

Paul watched as he left in dismay. “Wait, but they’re still-”

John took the rigid hands on his own and gently, but firmly led them to Martha’s fur. “It’s gonna be okay, Macca. Here’s Martha, she’s here to help.”

Paul started stroking the fur in automatic and Martha rubbed her head against his legs to try and offer extra comfort. Her owner took a deep breath, forcing his body to relax. 

Everything was quiet for quite a while, but John didn’t leave Paul’s side until he saw the man was actually alright and relaxed. Ringo and George had gone into the kitchen, not wanting to intrude on them. 

Paul had moved to the floor, with Martha on his lap. He looked up at John and offered a thankful smile. “Thank you, Johnny. You really helped.”

John shrugged it off. “You’ve helped me so much, it was only right I helped you.”

The younger man kept his smile as his brows furrowed. “Did you call me ‘Macca’?”

John froze and stuttered, “Well I, I mean you, you call me Johnny so I-I thought maybe you’d, you’d like to be- I mean, maybe you s-should also have a-”

“I love it.” Paul interrupted softly. “I love it, Johnny.”

John relaxed and smiled down at the man. “I’m glad, Macca.”

George walked in holding an enormous pizza. “Alright, lads. Let’s eat!”

Ringo cheered, holding the plates and cutlery.

Paul raised Martha’s arms and pretended to clap with them, much to everyone’s amusement. 

And as John ate the most delicious pizza he’d ever had, he looked around and smiled. Everything was okay. He was okay and he would be okay. 

They’d be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any Lucifer fans out there? 8D tell me in the comments if you like the piano scene
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed this chapter! ta!

**Author's Note:**

> leave a kudo and/or a comment if u liked! 
> 
> Also, don't you just wanna hug all of them?


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